


is not general incivility the very essence of love?

by frogchorus



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Beatles, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Yearning, and a LOT of ellipses, i use a lot of italics, set in liverpool, theyre in their 40s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogchorus/pseuds/frogchorus
Summary: Paul wanted to kiss John. John wanted to kiss Paul. You could cut through the tension with a very dull knife..or, John and Paul have known each other for over 20 years, both believing their crush on the other is completely unrequited.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney, jane asher/cynthia lennon (mentioned)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 47





	is not general incivility the very essence of love?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alienscully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienscully/gifts).



> Title is from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (because of course it is!!)

Leaving the cafe, Paul pressed John on his choice of eatery. “ _Why_ did you choose Maggie May’s, out of all places to eat? I’m sure you could cook everything they sell there…”

“‘S just nice, I think. An’ yeah, she could - it’s homely, not full of pretentious art students.”

“Implying you weren’t?”

“Me? Pretentious?” he replied, in mock anger.

“You’re wearing a turtleneck! You spent an hour in the poetry section of Waterstones _!_ ”

“I’m _just_ a gay artist, not pretentious!”

“Both, yer both.”

“Like you can talk!” John barked, pushing open the door to Resurrection Vintage, the business that resided below Dig Vinyl (the record shop where they both originally wanted to go). It was upon these very silly arguments that their friendship was based - they had been this way since they first met; immediately hitting it off with one another all those years ago - just clicking like two puzzle pieces. They were - and always had been from their very first meeting - completely inseparable. 

The two of them made their way upstairs, bee-lining towards the new stock section of the record store, as they always had in every music shop ever since their youth. 

A comfortable silence found it’s way between the two as they dug through the records: making their way around each box in the store, picking up an album every now and then to check the tracklist - it was almost ritualistic, the way they made their way through the store, occasionally collecting potential purchases. 

“I saw Cynthia the other day, y’know? She was up here, visiting her family - bumped into her in the Asda.”

“You did? How were… things?”

“Good! She’s got a wife now; seems happy - I’m glad for her.”

“She does?”

“Mhm, I think she’s called… Jane Asher? She’s an actress, been in a lot of TV dramas!”

“Oh, good, ‘m glad.” Paul replied, clearly mildly uncomfortable around John bringing up his ex girlfriend, despite the fact it had both been a good decade since the pair had split and the fact Cynthia had a _wife!!_ Yet that seemed like nothing in the grand scheme of things; nearing Twenty Five years since they first met - Twenty Five long years of crushing on John to, evidently, no avail. It was stupid, he knew it, anyone else would have moved on, a man of his age should be _married,_ as his father continually told him, always pushing his younger brother’s familial success in his face at every given opportunity. 

Silence fell between them once again as they browsed more, every so often they would glance at each other fleetingly, before re-occupying their minds, eyes, and hands with searching through records. Moments where their hands would brush past each other felt like electricity to the both of them, the temptation to take the others hand and envelope it in their own was constantly there, and yet, they would both rather recoil ever so slightly. 

“Cynthia was telling me about love languages when I saw her, saying how she and Jane spoke the same one…”

“Love languages?? What, like French or Italian? Baguette, ravioli, pasta?”

“No! They’re Romantic languages, idiot! You’re the smart one, how did you-” John laughed. “And anyway, it’s like… the way you express and like to receive love, I guess. I’ll look them up.” He mentioned, pulling his phone out and searching for a list, before showing his phone screen to Paul.

“Hm.” Paul acknowledged, before looking back at John. “Which one do you…?”

“Acts of service, mainly”

“And me? Which do I, um, speak?” He asked, somewhat embarrassed over the phrasing; feeling as if he sounded like a teenager.

“I don’t know, that’s for _you_ to decide... Do none of them speak _to_ you?”

“Um, no? I don’t… get that…”

“Well... for me, it’s acts of service ‘cos I like to do things fer other people, like to help them out, physical… things. I guess it’s not for you?”

“No…” Paul shook his head.

John just hummed, unsure of how to carry on the conversation from here.

“So you’re saying I don't have a love language, then?” 

“No, I’m just saying _we_ don’t speak the same one.” 

Paul just stared at him. He didn’t miss this, these mind games they played. To be honest, he grew too old for them. As much as the thought of being more mature gave him pride, and always had, he hoped he hadn’t grown too old for John. Too old for _them_ . The very thought upset him - it had been too long, this was practically a part of him now. His love for John. It was like an extra limb, he couldn’t envision himself existing _without_ having this hopeless, stinging love for him. He could easily envision himself as a senior citizen, still longing after John’s love. 

“Perhaps,” John began, after pondering the subject matter for a few minutes. “You speak a language of your own.” John looked up from the vinyl records he was occupying his hands with (they were in the heavy metal section of the store, for fuck’s sake. They both _hated_ heavy metal!!) and held Paul’s stare. 

“Like...A language made of gazing, longing stares, hopeful looks, daring eye contact. Poetic...” 

_Like I’m doing now? Like I always have done?_ John thought.

Paul wanted to kiss John. John wanted to kiss Paul. You could cut through the tension with a very dull knife.

“Or maybe you just don’t love.” John smiled, clearly forced. “What the fuck do _I_ know about it?” He muttered, flickering his gaze back to the records in front of him. 

_What do you know about love? Or me? Because I think you’re an encyclopedia for both._

“I definitely _do_ love, have done, am doing…”

“Doing? Like in the present tense?”

“Uh, yeah…” _Bigmouth strikes again_ , Paul thought, deeply regretting speaking at all.

“You never mentioned that! Who! Are you finally _in a relationship??!!”_

_Finally, there it was. Even John judged him for being so alone, fantastic._

“No! God, no!” 

“So, a crush?”

“Can we not talk about this in the middle of a fucking record store?” He hissed. 

“Alright! Alright!” John held his palms up in apology, backing away from Paul.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to snap at you…”

“I know.” John replied, once again turning his focus to flipping through the heavy metal records. _Fucking heavy metal!_

“I’ll pay for my records…” Paul trailed off, to which John nodded in acknowledgement. “Are you getting those?”

“I’ll be over there soon - I’m just looking at the…”

“Iron Maiden? You’ve changed your tune with old age!” Paul raised his eyebrows, knowing John’s (and his own) distaste for heavy metal, before turning around and heading to the till desk to pay for the records. 

“Yeah, yeah, I got distracted.” John replied, following Paul’s lead to the tills. 

_Thanks, Paul. As if he didn’t feel stupid enough_. 

Once they had both paid, they made their way out, back onto Bold Street. 

“Is there anywhere else you need to go?” Paul asked, attempting to _not_ gaze at John.

“Uh, not really… D’you just want to walk around town? Like we used to do?”

“Sure, sure.” 

“Come on then, no point in just standing around then.”

Paul followed John’s guidance, mind still thinking about what he had said before about love languages - and how John thought he was incapable of love. _How could he not tell that he had been madly in love with him for over two and a half decades? Fuck!_

John was glad to be able to spend time with _just_ Paul. It wasn’t like he didn’t like spending time with his other friends, no - he loved all his friends a _lot_ , but he simply treasured his time with Paul most. He always had, even if it was painful - the burning desire inside of him to just _kiss Paul._ It was pretty obvious too, multiple people had told him - _including_ Cynthia, many years ago, who thank god was understanding. Everyone was so caught up with work nowadays, he himself always had another commission to work on. Jobs aside, every single friend _apart from Paul_ was married and had children. Sometimes, he felt as if he was letting Aunt Mimi down - no partner, no kids, nothing to show for his adult life. It was embarrassing, wasn’t it? Still being in love with the same man you always had - the same man who, despite also being chronically single and gay, showed no interest whatsoever. He might as well suggest they get married _as friends._ No doubt Paul would shoot the suggestion down, though - they were both much too repressed regardless. Just two middle aged men, living in the shadows of what could have been.

“John?? John?!” Paul called, waving his hand in front of his eyes.

“Sorry, zoned out there - what’s happened?”

“Nothing! There’s just a new bakery opened, could we go in?”

“You don’t need to ask, ‘course we can.” John replied, cheeks flushed at Paul catching him so deep in thought. 

“I’ll get you something, y’still like belgian buns, right?” 

“... you remembered?” _How, no, why did he…?_ That was _such_ a silly detail, and yet Paul _remembered._

“Of course! We used to go to that place near uni, you would _always_ get one!”

_Was this his love language? Buying sticky buns?_

John covered his mouth with his hand, shying away from showing Paul how big his grin was. Perhaps that’s where he’d fallen in love, waiting in a bakery after uni with Paul, sharing a cup of tea and something sweet. Maybe he should have acted on it then, just to see what would happen. Things would _certainly_ be easier if he had.

The pair spent a little while longer in town, wandering around the shops before trailing their way back to the bus station.

“Come back to mine?” John offered. “If you’d like? We’ve been so tied down with work, it’s been ages…”

“Oh I’d love to, thank you.”

“Great! It’s just the- ”

“10B? I remember!”

“From when? You’ve driven every time?”

“You must have mentioned it, or… that’s the bus to Page Moss anyway.”

The bus journey felt like they were in their twenties again, going home from town, being a nuisance and bothering all of the other passengers. It was such a clear indicator of their age that now _they_ were the ones annoyed by loud teenagers blasting music. 

“We were this annoying once, Paul.”

“God, I know! What possessed us?”

“The power of youth? The feeling of superiority over all the oldies?”

“Well now _I_ know what it’s like to be ancient… I’m full of regrets…”

“Aren’t we all, aren’t we all…”

_Thank God they were only a couple of stops away from home_ . Paul’s last words resonated a bit too much - but… there was no way he meant it to be about _him_. The very idea was stupid, John knew. If he was younger, maybe he’d be more open to entertaining that idea, but it had been too long now. 

“Here, we get off at the next stop.” John told Paul as he pressed the stop button; the walk home was brief - they arrived at John’s home soon enough.

“Ah!!” Paul exclaimed. “Your cat! He’s so cute!”

“He’s called Bran, and yeah, it’s nice to have company.”

“You’ve... always got me?”

“You have so much work to do! All that marking…”

“I can take it with me, though. I mean it John, I’m only ever a text away…”

“I know, I know. I just… don’t want to be a burden on you.”

“You wouldn’t ever be, you should know that.” And it was true, Paul _would_ drop anything and everything for John. He wished John _knew_ just how special he was to him, but alas, he still didn’t.

“T-thanks, the same goes for you, really. You’ve known that for years too, yeah?”

“I guess, it’s just hard, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Everything. Balancing work and life, making time for friends… thank god it’s just me I have to worry about.”

“You don’t ever think about having a partner? A family?”

“I’m ancient, much too old to be a father, not rich enough to be a sugar daddy,” he joked, “and nobody wants to date a wrinkle like me. Do you?”

_Do I want to date Paul? He didn’t mean it like that, but Oh. If only you knew._

“I mean, it would be nice, but you’re right - I feel too old, I missed too much of my younger years caught up in my own troubles, I left it all too late…”

“Oh, don’t speak about yourself like that, please. You’ve still got it.”

“As do you… have you ever tried? Online?”

_No, was the answer for them both. It would be fruitless._

“Not to sound like a really old man, but no: I don’t trust it…”

The conversation grew stale, neither of them knowing what else to suggest. They were both relatively young, but there truly was little point in either of them searching for someone else when their soulmate was right there, if they bothered to work up the courage.

“I’m going to get a drink, want one?”

“Depends, what do you have?”

“Hm, wine, scotch, rum, gin…”

“Scotch and coke?”

“Just like the old days, eh?”

John left momentarily to fetch them both a drink, allowing Paul to properly view John’s living room. It was… so John. Paint everywhere, full bookshelves leaving piles of books, cat decorations… Everything was so endearing, because it was _John._ It was homely, though. Well lived in and clearly a space of great comfort, which - to Paul - was the best way to have such a personal space. He hadn’t been here alone in months, every time he’d seen John they would be out for a drink, or with multiple friends. He wanted more time like this, where it was only John and himself. Asking was out of the question, as no doubt he would feel far too awkward and instead organise something involving George and Ritchie, to prevent any drunken mistakes.

_Well, hardly mistakes. Unguarded reactions, maybe._

“Here we are!” Came John’s voice, re-emerging from the room he had gone to. 

“Ta very much!” Paul took a glass, bravely taking the opportunity to brush his fingers against John’s. 

“Put one of yer records on, if you wanna?” 

“Hm, go ‘ead.” He said, standing up to fetch the bag containing his purchases. “Which would _you_ like to listen to?” 

“Uh, let’s see then?” John craned his neck to get a better look at Paul’s selection. “Oh, is that _This is Hardcore_? That one, if ye’d like?”

Paul simply nodded as he made his way to the small side table housing John’s record player. He opened the lid, before carefully taking the Pulp record out of it’s sleeve and placing it onto the turntable. After checking it was plugged in, he flicked the power button and raised the arm onto the outer groove, allowing the record to play. 

“‘s not exactly light, is it?” Paul half-joked. He partially meant it, though, but no artist would fit better.

“Well, yeah… But Jarvis is a genius! He really knows what he’s on about, always did.”

“Can you believe it’s been twenty years since this album came out? Christ, time goes quickly!.

“Aye, it doesn’t feel like it.” John lied. To him, it _really_ felt like two hundred years. “Who’d have thought our lives would play out like this?”

_I did,_ John told himself. _I couldn’t see myself with anyone but you, this would be the only other outcome._

It was a comfortable melancholy; the pair sitting there, slowly drinking their drinks, singing along every now and then. To an outsider, this would be so depressing - hell, to _them_ this was depressing but on a different level - it was completely bittersweet. Neither knew that the other felt as low as they did, each of them believing their feelings were fully isolated to themselves. 

“What the _hell_ did Jarvis go through to write this?” Paul wondered out loud, receiving a hum of understanding from John. 

“At least it’s not as depressing as The Smiths.., he’s got that going for him.”

“It’s crushing, ain’t it? Loneliness.” 

“Hm?”

“Being so… so fuckin’ lonely, do you not feel the same?”

“I mean, I-”

“It’s crushing _having_ a crush, ‘s in the name fer a reason, I guess.”

“On _who?_ ”

“Does it _matter?”_

“I can’t see why you can’t just tell me!”

“God, are you really -” Paul asked, exasperated.

“Am I really what?”

“That… that _oblivious_!!”

“To what?”

“Oh fuck right _off!”_ he exclaimed, getting up and moving to stand directly in front of John, maintaining eye contact the entire time before tipping John’s chin up with his thumb and pressing a haste kiss to his lips before pushing him away. “Does that answer you?! It’s you. Fucking hell!”

“Me? Since… what? I…. You… huh?” John replied, struck speechless at Paul’s actions.

“Jesus Christ!”

“I don’t… _you_ have a crush on _me?”_

“You’ve got it, Sherlock.”

“And you…” John sighed, “y’ call _me_ oblivious?”

“What do you mean? You clearly _are!”_

“As are you!”

“To….?”

“This!” he replied. All there was to do was kiss him again, words wouldn’t capture it with as much meaning. This time, it was longer, less harsh, it was _the_ kiss they had both waited so long for. Paul let his hands drop to John’s hips, pulling him closer to him as they both broke away. 

“You felt-”

“The same? Aye, yeah. I do, I have done since we first met.”

“And we’ve both just felt like _this_ for nearly three decades?”

John nodded in agreement, feeling rather stupid now it had been said so openly. _This was so cliché, but did that matter?!_

The pair sat in stunned silence; the possibility of conversation had dissipated - neither of them knew what to say. Nothing in the twenty five long years they had wanted this could have prepared either of them for what to do now. The clock on the wall opposite them was slowly ticking, providing the only constant source of sound now, the record had stopped spinning a while ago - neither of them wanted to get up and change it, so they remained there, avoiding eye contact and discussing what just occurred. 

“So...” said Paul, finally breaking the quietude that had long settled.

“What… took you so long?” John questioned, still avoiding Paul’s gaze.

“I could ask you the very same! I guess… I guess it was for similar reasons to you, though.”

“I didn’t want to scare you off and lose you. I’ve always been afraid of it. It’s always been a constant source of surprise that you’ve stayed single, you’re the ideal man for so many people!”

“I never thought I would find someone else like you, so I never bothered looking. There’d be no point, would there?” Paul took John’s hand, urging him to simply look at him. “And you…?”

“I didn’t want to risk it, didn’t want to find someone and fall for them and not _you_. I don’t know how I’d see you without… well, without all my feelings for you. It just got longer and longer and-”

“The feelings never went away?”

“Yeah. God, that exactly.”

Paul kissed John again, wrapping his hands together at the base of his spine, appreciating the shared warmth. They stood like that for a while, taking in the events of the past few minutes, slowly breathing against one another. 

_Finally_. They both thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Please tell me what you thought in the comments! You can find me on tumblr [here!](mccartneyvinyl.tumblr.com)


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